Friday, March 06, 2009


The word today, or rather two words, were used a lot in my childhood but once again, may not be unique to Ulster.  And please read the description quickly in case you've gone off thinking Silverback has gone all crude on us.....again !   It's just YOUR minds and not mine.

Glory Hole : a cupboard or space in the house that could contain just about anything.

So many missing items in our house were to be found in the glory hole that I often wondered why we just didn't check there before declaring them missing in the first place.  The order should have been : check the glory hole, declare the item officially missing and only then say a prayer to St. Anthony, the patron saint of missing/lost items.  

Boy was that poor saint ever stuck with a lousy job.  I think the 'powers that be' realised his job was becoming untenable some years ago and he was relieved of his duties by some Pope or other.  Lost items just have to remain lost these days as St. Anthony has been retrained and was last heard of looking for work outside a McDonalds in Mexico City.

I honestly can't remember exactly where our glory hole was. No it wasn't lost, smarty pants.  I just can't remember if it was the full sized closet in the living room that housed the water heater, or if it was the cupboard near the staircase that housed the electric meter and where we hung our coats and jackets or if it was the airing cupboard upstairs, across from my bedroom. 

Having three glory holes wouldn't have helped the search process so I'm sure there was only one. But the point is, every home had one and it was always full of useful junk, stuff that couldn't possibly be thrown out and yet stuff that only saw the light of day when it was deemed to be missing.  

"Where's that old pair of scissors we use for cutting frayed carpets ?"    Glory hole.

"Has anyone seen my scarf from Aunt Doris that makes me sick when I wear it ?"  Glory hole.

"Where's Ian, the wee dote ?"  Glory hole.

Ok I just made that last one up.  I never ventured into the glory hole as a child.  It was a scary place remember, full of vomit inducing scarves and sharp objects.  

No, if I ever went missing, you could always find me at the local picture house, sitting through two showings of the latest Hollywood blockbuster.  

And enjoying a slider !!


Daphne said...

Glorious! More please.

Jan said...

Great post! Our glory hole was always under the stairs. In fact we always had a glory hole until moving to the States. Now I suppose whatever I'm looking for is just in the boring old shed, or garage.

PS. We also always had a junk drawer - still do have one of those. :-)

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